


Turn the World Around

by emocezi



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Just the main players, Listen there's too many people and I'm not tagging the entire temple, M/M, Slow Burn, Time Travel Fix-It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:09:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8696041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emocezi/pseuds/emocezi
Summary: Twenty five year old, newly knighted Qui-Gon Jinn, wakes up in a bed not his own, with a stunning redhead, all pale, freckled skin, asleep beside him.He assumes, given that his knight in ceremony was the day before, that he’d gotten drunk with his friends and former crechmates and taken a pretty stranger to bed.The pretty stranger stirs and Qui-Gon adopts a look of smug serenity, the cat who got a cream soaked canary and waits to get either a name, or an offer of morning sex.What he doesn’t expect is for the pretty stranger to look up, beautiful eyes going wide and shocked, and his name, full of grief and sorrow and love and awe to fall from trembling lips.“Qui-Gon?”





	1. The Road Goes On Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Hi All!
> 
> I know the idea of time travel in the Star Wars universe has been done a thousand times, but the fun part is that every single time, it's always a unique journey. 
> 
>  
> 
> So, without further ado. Here's my take on the Star Wars Time Travel trope.

Twenty five year old, newly knighted Qui-Gon Jinn, wakes up in a bed not his own, with a stunning redhead, all pale, freckled skin, asleep beside him.

He assumes, given that his knight in ceremony was the day before, that he’d gotten drunk with his friends and former crechemates and taken a pretty stranger to bed.

The pretty stranger stirs and Qui-Gon adopts a look of smug serenity, the cat who got a cream soaked canary and waits to get either a name, or an offer of morning sex.

What he doesn’t expect is for the pretty stranger to look up, beautiful eyes going wide and shocked, and his name, full of grief and sorrow and love and awe to fall from trembling lips.

“Qui-Gon?”

“You have me at a loss.” he offers a smile and reaches out to rub knuckles over a soft, bare cheek. “Might I have your name, lovely creature of the dawn?”

Rather then simper and smile and fall prey to his seductions as Qui-Gon had hoped, the man’s face falls into misery and then shutters to stillness. “Get up. Get dressed. We need to talk to the council.”

“Why? Why not stay here? I know a few friends who’d bring us food from the mess if I asked them to. We won’t be disturbed.” Rather than contemplation, he gets a look of uneasiness and the pretty creature is stalking off to pull robes out of the closet, throwing one at Qui-Gon.

“Put this on. And for the sake of the small God’s, be quiet. My padawan is asleep and I won’t have him woken.” Qui-Gon frowns but dresses and follows the pretty creature out into the kitchens, waiting while he writes a quick note for his padawan, and follows him out the door.

“You’re barely more than a padawan yourself. What did you do to get knighted so quickly?” Qui-Gon asks curious and reaching out to touch the place behind the pretty creatures ear where a padawan braid should be growing.

The pretty creature jerks away and gives Qui-Gon a look that’s both angry and wracked with grief all at once. “My master died.” It’s spat out, the words too foul to be kept long on the tongue and Qui-Gon sucks in a breath.

“Forgive me. My master often tells me I speak before my brain can hold my tongue in check.”

“You are forgiven.” The pretty creature says sounding tired and worn through, stopping in front of a door.

He knocks, waiting for the rooms occupant to answer their early morning guests, and when the door finally opens, Qui-Gon isn’t sure who’s more surprised.

“Qui-Gon?”

“Mace? You got old!”

“Knight Kenobi, where did you find him?”

“I awoke to find him in my bed, Master Windu.” Knight Kenobi says and Mace blows out a breath and then nods.

“I’ll call an emergency council session. Come in, both of you. The less people who see this ghost the better.”

“Ghost?” Qui-Gon asks curious and Mace gives him a hard, searching look.

“You died last week, cut down by a Sith lord in front of your padawan.”

“Former padawan.” Knight Kenobi says voice small and hurt, looking away from Qui-Gon. “Anakin was his padawan then.”

“Former padawan.” Mace amends and he drops a heavy hand on Knight Kenobi’s shoulder. “How is the boy?”

“Sleeping. Finally.” Knight Kenobi offers Mace an exhausted smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, holding himself stiff. He looks cold and unreachable, as if carved from a block of ice.

Mace grunts softly and goes to dress and call the council, leaving the two men alone in the kitchens.


	2. Traded in my Cigarettes

The council session had left him drained, both physically and emotionally. After endless questions, many of them of a personal nature, all he wanted to do was sleep. But try as he might Qui-Gon could only toss and turn. 

He'd released his fears to the force, meditated in the stark and barren apartment he'd been granted while the council decided on his fate, steeped and drank two pots of calming tea, and still he couldn't sleep. 

It wasn't him, he realized after an hour of tossing and turning. The living force whispers in his head in its thousand separate voices, calling him to follow. Resigned, Qui-Gon gets up, dressing in the robes Knight Kenobi had given him only that morning and leaves his rooms. Its early and the temple feels deserted, the halls empty. He shivers and tucks his robe more securely around him, following the force to where it whispers the loudest.

Yan Dooku, a man he'd seen only yesterday kneels in the grass of the gardens, meditating beside a pond filled with golden fish that flash and shimmer beneath the waters surface. The water ripples gently, small waves lapping the shore and Qui-Gon is caught up in memories of meditating here beside his stern, always disappointed master. 

He looks old, Qui-Gon thinks. Tired. Sad.

His breath catches in his throat and he takes a step back, not wanting to intrude on this private moment. 

Master Dooku's eyes slit open and he angles his head slightly, as if hunting for the fool who's stumbled upon his meditation. Qui-Gon freezes in place, not sure what to say or do. Yan's eyes widen and his mouth parts in shock under his neatly trimmed mustache. 

"Oh force." Dooku whispers it and Qui-Gon stays frozen in place. "Qui-Gon. My padawan. You came. You look so young, boy." 

"I came." Qui-Gon offers, unsure. “Master.”

"I hoped you would. There is much I wish to speak of. To-” He pauses, as if searching for the words. “Apologize for."

“Apologize, master?” Qui-Gon is hesitant. To his knowledge, Yan Dooku considered apologies to be beneath him, considered them to be a form of weakness. _You evaluate, Padawan Jinn._ He'd said once. _You fix the behaviors that are deemed unacceptable. But you never accept fault for them. Wolves attack when they smell blood. Never allow yourself to bleed._

“We had our differences.” Yan says, and he sounds tired in a way that makes Qui-Gon's blood run cold. “But despite them, you kept me in the light. And now, now I fear there is nothing left for me here. In the temple, or the order.”

“Master.” Qui-Gon's voice is a whisper and he takes a single step forward. Than another, until he's an arms length from Yan. He has no idea what to say to his master in this state of emotional despair, choosing his words as carefully as he can, the force whispering in his ear that a misstep here will be his undoing. “There is still so much for you here. Your grand padawan is here. He needs you.” 

Yan's eyes narrow to slits and for a moment Qui-Gon swears they glow yellow. His heart pounds, so loudly he can hear it in his ears and he backs up carefully when his master slowly climbs to his feet, to his full, imposing height. 

“Who are you?” The voice is quiet and yet thunderous, rumbling in fury. “Why do you come to torment me, wearing the face of my dead padawan? Speak now, demon.”

“I'm no demon.” Qui-Gon snaps, his own fury rising at being spoken to as if he's nothing but an insolent child. 

“Than what are you?” Yan asks, hand twitching to his belt and the saber clipped to it. “I thought you a ghost in the force. But I can see now you are as alive as I am.” He moves closer, and Qui-Gon takes a step back, falling without thinking, into the familiar dance of footwork. Yan goes still and Qui-Gon waits, unsure of what his master, who has always been steadfast and unmoving in the force as a rock, will do. 

He feels chaotic now, tarnished in a way. And it startles Qui-Gon down to the bones when he comes to an understanding that Yan feels _grey_ in the force. And more than that, there are small embers of darkness beginning to spark inside of him. “Master.” He stands his ground, squaring his shoulders, eye level with the mountain that is Yan Dooku. “I don't know how it happened. But I am your padawan.” He pauses momentarily to amend himself. “Former padawan. The last I saw of you was when you cut my braid yesterday afternoon.”

“How is this possible?” Yan turns away, robes whirling violently around him. “You were killed. Cut down by a Sith lord in front of Kenobi. You are _dead_ Qui-Gon Jinn, and yet you stand here before me, as insolent as you were as a boy.” He whirls back and moves forward, a pale, skeletal hand reaching out to grab Qui-Gon's wrist.

His fingers are cold when they close around the limb and Yan jerks his hand back as if he's been burned by the warmth of Qui-Gon's skin, the beat of his pulse. 

“How is this possible?” He asks again and Qui-Gon, lost for words, simply shrugs, earning a scowl from his former master. _Insufferable.”_ Yan snaps it and steps into Qui-Gon's space, arms enclosing him in an embrace. “Fool of a padawan.”

Qui-Gon stands frozen, and the embrace ends as abruptly as it began. Yan looks at him, peering down his nose the way he used to when Qui-Gon was a boy covered in mud and other unmentionable substances. 

“Did Yoda know of this?” 

“He did.” Qui-Gon confirms quietly.

“And how long has he known?”  
“Since this morning.” Nothing about Yan changes, save for the eyes, which sharpen and seem to turn to fire. He turns, robes whipping dramatically as he storms from the gardens and Qui-Gon chews on his bottom lip absently, a habit it took him years to break as Master Jedi. 

Master Yoda it seems, is about to have a rude awakening. Oh to be a fly on the wall.


	3. Beyond the Blue Horizon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I wound up having to rework the entire first half of this, otherwise I would have had it up this morning. 
> 
> Anywho, I'm pretty pleased with how it came out, since newly Knighted Qui-Gon is a bit hard to pin down. He hasn't trained Feeamor, hasn't lost Xanatos or Tahl. Hasn't trained Obi-Wan. 
> 
> He's fresh, unmolded clay and I'm trying my best to mold him into something Qui-Gonesque. Though I have a wonderful team of people who aren't afraid to slap me with fish should I start to take him OOC.
> 
> Anywho, thanks for all the comments you've given me so far. I really appreciate them and I'm very happy you're all enjoying this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. 
> 
> I'll try to have the next bit up soon but I've got weird hours this week. I do have Sunday and Monday off so I should have something up by then, if nothing else, I'll have a lot of time to plan this out.
> 
> Enjoy the new chapter!!

Qui-Gon removes himself from the gardens after Master Dooku leaves, heading back to his rooms to catch up on his sleep, or at least attempt to if the force has no other plans for him tonight. He speculates on what his former Master is going to say to _his_ former Master, and there's no doubt that the conversation isn't going to be pleasant for either party. Especially with the added factor of the late hour.

Master Dooku and Grandmaster Yoda get along as well as Master Dooku had gotten along with Qui-Gon right up until yesterday morning. Like oil and water, there always has, and always will be a separation between Master Dooku and everyone else. Qui-Gon had often wondered why such a man would want to take on a padawan, given his sour disposition and need for absolute perfection in every task.

He takes a breath, and with the benefit of long practice, pushes his unpleasant thoughts out into the force, where they're swept away from him, carried out to wherever unpleasant thoughts go. 

It was strange, to speak to the grey haired old man who shared his Master's face and his Master's force-feel. To have this man apologize to him, and if anything, it only cements the idea in Qui-Gon's head that he'd been nothing less than a perfect padawan, that the fault in their relationship had lain with Master Dooku alone.

He'd been, Qui-Gon thinks, less of a Master and more as an instructor, passing on what wisdom he carried with all the boring gravitas of Qui-Gon's most hated mathematics instructor. He'd tried to endear himself to Master Dooku, but a padawan could only put up with a Master that showed barely any interest in anything but politics and the most boring of the fighting stances for so long.

Qui-Gon remembers the day before, and how when he'd been knighted and his braid cut, his Master had spoken the traditional words of breaking bonds as if he were reciting particularly boring poetry. There had been no spark, no passion, no pleasure in the ceremony. Even though he'd expected it, it had still hurt. And when it was over, Master Dooku had simply stepped back, looking as uninterested as he always had. 

Qui-Gon takes a breath, letting these thoughts join their bretheren out in the force. What happened in the past must stay in the past, he reminds himself, and looks with a touch of surprise at the fact that he's arrived at his rooms already. A mind full of distraction makes a journey pass quickly, he muses, and keys in the code, slipping in through the door and letting it close behind him.

He undresses, leaving his clothes where they fall, a habit not even Yan Dooku himself had been able to break, and climbs into bed, pushing the window open with a small use of force. 

It's raining out, and the smell of it sweetens the room. The sound of rain drops on the walls of the temple mix with the far off sounds of Corscant traffic, and it lulls Qui-Gon down into the darkness of slumber. And in a blessing, he doesn't dream of the past. 

 

XxX XxX

 

When he wakes, its to find Grandmaster Yoda in his room, seated at the low table in the main room, a pot of tea placed in the center of the table.

Qui-Gon rubs at his eyes and then goes to sit. He doesn't speak, brain still fogged from sleep. He pours tea for the both of them, savouring the taste in his cup and draining it, pouring a second before he speaks. “Good morning, Master Yoda.”

“A good morning, it is not.” Yoda speaks solemnly, small voice rasping in the quiet of the apartment. “Spoke to Master Dooku, last night you did?”

“I did.” Qui-Gon lifts a hand to rub it over the fuzz he's been attempting to grow the last few days. “The living force sent me to him in the middle of the night. So I went, and we talked. And he apologized to me and hugged me, and then went to speak to you.”

Yoda's ears swivel, catching the small sounds of the mouse sized cleaning bots as they work around the floors in the bedroom, whirring and squeaking to each other in binary. “Spoke to me, he did. Words, we had. Kind ones, they were not.”

There's silence for a long while, both knight and Grandmaster caught up in their own words.

“What happened?” Qui-Gon asks finally, breaking the silence. Yoda humms in the back of his throat, and his ears dips slightly in sadness.

“A betrayal, he called it. Should have told him about you, he said. Told him I was meditating on it, I did.” Qui-Gon stays quiet, just listening. He pours a third cup of tea for himself and a second for the Grandmaster. “Had planned to tell him about you in the morning, I told him.”

“He's gone, isn't he?” Qui-Gon's voice is quiet and he looks down in his tea cup, already knowing the answer to his question. Yoda's silence is all the answer he needs. “Did he tell you why he left?”

“Layers to the conversation, there were.” Yoda says after a long silence. “Too many layers.” He pauses again and looks up at Qui-Gon, eyes full of sadness. “Darkness in him, there is.”

“I sensed it too.” Qui-Gon says quietly. “He always felt grey in the force. But last night. Last night I felt true darkness in him, Grandmaster. It scared me.”

“Release your fears to the force, you must. Allow them to poison your mind, you must not.”

“Yes Grandmaster.” Qui-Gon accepts the chastisement with a bow of his head and finishes his tea. He doesn't pour a third cup, instead letting his thoughts wander in the silence that slowly becomes less peaceful. And finally, he speaks. “Grandmaster, you didn't come here just to tell me about Dooku, did you?” Yoda lifts his head, centuries of wisdom in his ancient eyes.

“Brought a youngling in front of the council, you did.”

“Knight Kenobi's Padawan?” Qui-Gon asks and Yoda nods, bones creaking from the motion.

“Fear in him, there is. Refused to let him go untrained, you told the council.”

“I don't understand, Grandmaster.” 

“Has his hands full, knight Kenobi does. Time, I think it is. Anakin Skywalker, you should meet.”


	4. Another Man's Cause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo. Longest chapter yet!

Its been a rough morning. Though, every morning for the last eight days has been rough. Anakin hasn't been making any of this transition easy. He hates his classes and his classmates and his teachers. He wants to stay with Obi-Wan. He wants to go home. He wants his mother. He wants Qui-Gon.

It had taken nearly an hour to get Anakin out the door and to his first class of the morning, and by the time he gets back from having walked Anakin right to the classroom, as force knows he'd attempted to let Anakin find the classroom himself a few days before and had been commed in the middle of an attempted meditation session and informed that Initiate Skywalker hadn't even shown up.

Anakin of course, had done his best to lie, to tell Obi-Wan he'd gotten lost. That he'd tried his best to find the classroom and had finally gone to the cafeteria when he'd exhausted himself in his search efforts. 

He'd been sat down, explained to that he got one free strike and this was it. The Jedi Temple wasn't Tatooine and his teachers weren't idiots to be conned. Qui-Gon had given his life so that Anakin could be trained as a Jedi, and skipping classes was not honouring the memory of the man.

And then this morning. This morning Anakin was sure he had some sort of horrible disease that meant he'd need to be quarantined. He couldn't go to class, he had to stay with Obi-Wan all day. They'd have to be locked up in this room for the rest of their lives because they were both sick now. 

All the learned diplomatic skills in the universe seem to come up short when faced with a nine year old who doesn't want to do something. And Obi-Wan finds himself exhausted as he keys in the code to the rooms he shares with Anakin. He wants to crawl back under the covers and sleep for the rest of the day. But the dishes from breakfast have to be cleaned and there's meditation to be done and the council needs to be checked with. 

He knows he's been granted a certain leeway with the council because of Qui-Gon's death, but it won't last forever and he wants to prove to them, and himself, that he's more than prepared to be a knight. Though it's less for himself, and more because he refuses to let them think Qui-Gon was wrong in any of his choices.

Obi-Wan shrugs out of his robe and hangs it up, moving into the room and collecting the plates, bowls, and cups from the shared morning meal, taking them to the small kitchen and flicking on the water with a small use of force as he puts the dishes on the counter, squirting flower-scented soap into the water.

Master Qui-Gon hates this smell. It's an absent thought that overtakes him and all at once he can't breathe. His eyes squeeze shut and he does his absolute best to push this all encompassing grief and pain out into the force, but the more he pushes the more he drowns. He reaches out blindly, slapping off the water and sinking down onto his knees, desperately trying to pull in air.

A sound bursts out of him, and it's the animal-like sound of pain that shocks him back to himself. 

He takes a cautious breath, and then another, and shoves the heavy feelings of grief out into the force, not wanting to feel anything like that again. He pulls himself up onto shaking legs, putting dishes in the water and scrubbing at them a bit blindly and it's then that he understands why one of the main rules of the code forbids attachment.

He'd become attached to his master. It's a startling thought, one that shocks him down to his core and for a very long and unpleasant moment, he wonders if perhaps the force removed his Master as a lesson. And then the doorbell rings.

Obi-Wan takes a breath, carefully tucking his thoughts into the back of his mind where they won't be seen or picked up by whoever is at the door. He wipes his hands on the dish towel and goes to answer the door.

It's the young, _alive_ Qui-Gon from another timeline, because nothing in Obi-Wan's life has ever been easy and he does his best to greet the knight with civility.

“Knight Jinn. How may I be of service?”

“Knight Kenobi.” Qui-Gon offers what he hopes passes as a smile. “May I come in?”

“I don't think that's the best idea.” Obi-Wan says truthfully and Qui-Gon takes a breath, a touch impatient and already moving forward to nudge Obi-Wan aside.

“I can't talk to you about this in the hall.” Qui-Gon says, taking advantage of the fact that Obi-Wan doesn't want to make physical contact with him to move into the apartment. Obi-Wan jerks away from him and lets the door close behind Qui-Gon, standing stiff and uncomfortable. “I like your apartment. It's lived in. Master Dooku had our apartment looking like a museum.” 

“Thank you.” Obi-Wan offers, voice stilted. “What do you need to speak to me about?”

“Master Dooku left the temple last night.” Qui-Gon says, a touch awkwardly. 

“I'm sorry to hear that.” Obi-Wan says after a long few moments. “Is that all?”

“Did you know him well?” Qui-Gon asks, cocking his head a touch and Obi-Wan shakes his head. 

“No. He was never around much. And when I did see him, he seemed more interested in politics and the history of the order. My master-” He stops and takes a breath. “What did you need to speak to me about?”

Qui-Gon reaches up to toy with the braid that's no longer hanging on his shoulder and his hand falls in an aborted motion. “Master Yoda mentioned your padawan, and he thinks I should-”

“No.” Obi-Wan's face shutters. “Anakin is off limits.”

“It's not my choice.” Qui-Gon points out and gets a cold stare in return. “Grandmaster Yoda-”

“I said _no,_ Knight Jinn.” Obi-Wan snaps it. 

“This isn't my idea.” Qui-Gon replies, voice sharp. “The last thing I wanted to do today is hang around someone who can't even look me in the face.” Obi-Wan jerks back and for a moment Qui-Gon wants to apologize and then Obi-Wan's face curls into a snarl.

“Get out.”

“Fine.” Qui-Gon huffs and turns, too many memories of fights with Master Dooku to hold his tongue. “I'm sure Tahl will be happy to see me.”

“I'm sure she'll be happy to see you.” Obi-Wan responds, voice icy with rage. “You can find her in the memorial wing.” He feels a dark sort of pleasure at the way Qui-Gon goes still, though it fades when he sees Qui-Gon's face has gone white. “I'm sorry.” Obi-Wan says it immediately, feeling like a pile of Krayt dragon dung. “I shouldn't have said that.”

“She's dead?” Qui-Gon turns, face caught up in a horror Obi-Wan knows only too well. He takes a shaking breath, feeling off balance and nods, stepping back. It's not to put distance between them, but an invitation of sorts.

“I'm going to put a pot of tea on.” He doesn't offer anything more than that, and he can see Qui-Gon's hesitation. It's written all over his face. A face Obi-Wan knows as intimately as his own.

“Did she-” Qui-Gon takes a shaking breath and rubs a hand over his face. “Was it quick?” Obi-Wan swallows hard over the wave of grief that overtakes him all at once. It's been nine years. Nine years of meditations and surrendering his feelings to the force and he can still remember Tahl's face, ashen and gaunt, still remember his Master's face, as white as a burial shroud and wrecked with the sort of pain that shreds the soul.

“That's. That's not an easy question to answer, Knight Jinn.”

“Force.” Qui-Gon rubs a hand over his jaw in a gesture so familiar it staggers Obi-Wan to the core with a fresh wave of grief and his sight begins to blur and waver, eyes filling with tears. “Are you- please don't cry. Sit down. I'll make you tea. Do you have chocolate? Chocolate always helps.” Qui-Gon sounds nearly frantic and it makes Obi-Wan hiccough, struggling to pull himself back into order. 

He just nods, not trusting his voice and lets Qui-Gon guide him gently to a chair and covering his face in his hands, letting the grief work through him so he can release it easier to the force while the soft sounds of tea making flutter in from the kitchen. 

By the time Qui-Gon comes back with a tea pot and two plain mugs, Obi-Wan has himself under control. He takes the square of emergency chocolate Qui-Gon had found in the fridge and bites it in half, letting the bitter sweetness melt on his tongue. 

Qui-Gon fidgets quietly, trying to keep his eyes off of the young knight who'd been his padawan in another lifetime. The man is quiet, somehow serene despite the grief Qui-Gon can still feel rolling off of him in waves. He slips the rest of the chocolate square in his mouth and finally, when the tea is nearly finished steeping, opens his eyes. “Did you still want to know how Tahl died?” 

“I do.” Qui-Gon swallows thickly. All at once he doesn't want to hear this. Wants to get up and leave this apartment soaked in grief and pain. Obi-Wan looks at him, studying his face, eyes flicking over the softness of it, the way Qui-Gon's face is so similar and yet so different from the man he knew. It's written there, as plain as if Qui-Gon shouted a refusal at him and Obi-Wan offers a small, quiet smile.

“Perhaps later. When you're feeling up to it.” His voice is calm with a touch of something Qui-Gon can't quite make out. “Thank you for the tea and the chocolate. I apologize for my emotional outburst.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you sound like some posh, off-world senator? It suits you, don't get me wrong. But you're very-” It gets him half a smile, which is better than more tears.

“Stuffy?” Obi-Wan asks, straightening his already rigid posture and reaching out to pour the tea with more formality than Qui-Gon has seen at ceremonies.

“Not the word I'd use.” Qui-Gon offers a quick grin meant to disarm. “Maybe something more like stilted. Maybe confined. Pompous if I was being rude.” That gets him a gracefully arched eyebrow.

“ _If_ you were being rude?”

“Which I'm not.” Qui-Gon takes the mug of tea offered to him and dumps a spoonful of sugar in it, much to the horror of Obi-Wan.

“That is the finest _murrih tisane_ in three systems.”

“It's leaf water.” Qui-Gon says dryly, rolling his eyes. “You sound like Master Dooku.” 

“I most certainly do _not._ ” Obi-Wan stiffens, looking morally outraged, as if Qui-Gon had called him something offensive and horrible. He takes a breath, calming himself visibly and then sniffs in disdain in a way that makes Qui-Gon's mouth twitch in a hastily aborted smile. “There are certainly worse people to sound like.” 

“ _Indeed, Master Kenobi._ ” Qui-Gon lowers his voice to match the low rumbling bass of Master Dooku's voice. Obi-Wan blinks at him and then snorts out a laugh, face lighting up.

“Oh force. That sounds just like him. I didn't know you could do that.”

“I don't show it off to too many people. I enjoy living.” Qui-Gon jokes and for a moment, they're just two young knights grinning at each other. The moment passes too soon, as the best moments tend to, and Obi-Wan gives another softly amused snort and sips his tea, seemingly lost in though.

“So. Master Yoda wants you to meet Anakin?” Obi-Wan murmurs it, swirling the mild herbal tea around his simple stoneware mug. “I suppose he just wants whats best for everyone.”

“Master Dooku always said that Grandmaster Yoda wants whats best for everyone, but never stops to think beyond that. That Yoda had become complacent in his position as head of the council.” To Qui-Gon, his words are nothing more than an echo of a lecture he'd endured a thousand times. To Obi-Wan, they sound like a warning cry and he feels a shudder run through him, the force whisper-shouting in his ears of dangers and darkness to come. “Knight Kenobi?” 

“I apologize. I felt a tremor in the force. I'm sure it's nothing.”

“A tremor?” Obi-Wan bites his lip, as if he's trying to keep himself from speaking his mind in front of Qui-Gon and finally he leans forward, voice pitched low. Qui-Gon follows his lead.

“A premonition. Something is coming. Something bad. I think Master Dooku might be involved with it.”

Qui-Gon wants to deny Obi-Wan's words, but they make him feel ill and he takes a steadying breath and a swallow of lukewarm tea. “Master Dooku wouldn't betray the order.”

“You told me he left last night.” Obi-Wan points out and the slimy feeling grows in Qui-Gon's stomach.

“The temple. Not the order.” His voice sounds weak to his own ears and Qui-Gon takes another swallow of tea to steady himself. “He just needed to think.” Obi-Wan watches him out of sad, solemn eyes and finally he nods.

“It was probably just something I ate.” He offers quietly, a tiny white flag of surrender and Qui-Gon feels a touch of relief. 

“Thank you.” Qui-Gon offers and Obi-Wan just nods and pushes his cup of half finished tea away, too nauseous to finish it.

“I have to finish the dishes and meet Anakin for lunch.”

“Should I-”

“Another day.” Obi-Wan interrupts him, getting up and clearing the table without meeting Qui-Gon's eyes. “I need to speak to him first. I'll let you know when he's ready to meet you, knight Jinn.” It's a dismissal clear as day, and Qui-Gon gets up.

“Thank you for the tea, knight Kenobi.” He offers with a bow that Obi-Wan stiffly gives back before escaping into the kitchen. 

Qui-Gon sees himself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Things kind of got a little bit intense. 
> 
> You know what? Knight Qui-Gon is one hell of a fun guy to play around with. He's smug and smart assed and a touch self rightous, and more, he hasn't been tarnished with the living smog that is Xanatos, so Obi-Wan is getting to see the man as he might have been before Xanatos broke him into little pieces and left someone else to clean them up.
> 
> Next chapter will be more or less Anakin and Obi-Wan talking and I'll do my best to have the next chapter up next week sometime. Thanks for reading. :)
> 
> Thanks for the kudo's and the comments as well. :D


	5. A Life so Changed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I wanted to say thanks for all the comments and kudo's. :D
> 
> Normally I'd apologize for this chapter having taken so long to be written and edited and published. But I'm trying something new, which is writing for myself and not for the glory of the comment.
> 
> This of course means I'm actually invested in writing again, and while I'm not sure where this story is going as a whole, I at least know where this next chapter is going.
> 
> I hope you enjoy. :)

Obi-Wan is waiting for Anakin when his morning set of classes ends. The excitable boy who'd proclaimed things to be 'wizard' seems to have died with Master Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan knows exactly how he feels, and it's this that's helped him deal as gently as he can with Anakin, even with his newly developed sullen attitude.

“Have you ever eaten sushi?” Obi-Wan asks as the two of them walk to the smaller refectory in the south wing. Obi-Wan chose it specifically. He doesn't enjoy being around people and their pitying glances these days, and he figures Anakin is about as sick of the pity as he is. 

“What's that?” Anakin doesn't look up, staring ahead as they walk, his sandy blonde hair sticking up in the standard spikes of a padawan cut, the back left long and caught back in a little nerf tail while a stubby little braid wrapped in white, black, and aqua threads to signify a brand new padawan, a period of mourning, and the knowledge that Anakin has endured a great deal of trauma recently, sticks out from behind his ear.

“It's different things, fish or vegetables wrapped in vinegared rice and dried seaweed.” Anakin makes a vaguely disgusted noise and Obi-Wan's lips curve up in a smile. “I'm sure you've eaten worse things.”

“Yeah, but that was on Tattooine. I figured you would have better food on a core world.” Anakin looks up finally and Obi-Wan shares his grin, ruffling his padawan's hair in an affectionate gesture. He's been doing his best to keep his mood level for the boy, the way Master Qui-Gon had never done for him.

Anakin deserves to have a Master that isn't caught up in his own turmoil, and Obi-Wan is doing everything he can to give Anakin that. He hasn't see any mind healers, and no one has recommended them to him. But in a general sense, Jedi seek out mind healers on their own. If you don't see one, most people expect that you're dealing with your problems. 

Obi-Wan orders sushi for himself and lets Anakin order his own meal, which winds up being a bantha burger and fries. Obi-Wan frowns at the padawan's meal choice, but doesn't comment on it. If Anakin gets sick from the meal, it will be a valuable lesson in choosing his sustenance more carefully.

Anakin, as it turns out, has the stomach of a Gamorrean and suffers no effects from eating rich, fatty food. Other than a stomach ache from eating too much too fast, he's perfectly fine. Obi-Wan watches him snarf down his food with mild distaste while he nibbles his sushi, using the time to think of what he needs to speak to Anakin about.

It's the silence and the ponderous look on Obi-Wan's face that alerts Anakin that something is wrong. Nine years of reading body language and micro expressions have given him the ability to judge a person in an instant and he eyes Obi-Wan, sipping his water and doing his best to determine if he needs to take the little bag of essentials he's had packed since Qui-Gon was killed by the scary red and black man that felt like a plague of blackness and horror in Anakin's mind. 

“What's wrong?” Obi-Wan has started to earn his trust in the way he acts, and the fact that no matter what he's never lied to Anakin when he asks questions about the temple and what's going to happen to the two of them.

“Nothing is-” Obi-Wan pauses, eyes flicking off to the left while he searches for words and Anakin relaxes back in his chair. “-wrong. Per se. There's been a development and I'm not sure how to explain it. I'm not even sure how it happened.”

“Just say it.” Anakin offers. “It's not bad is it?”

“I don't know yet.” Obi-Wan takes a fry from Anakin's plate, nibbling on it absent mindedly. “The force works in mysterious ways, my padawan. And something mysterious has happened.” Obi-Wan takes a breath and then gives Anakin a smile. “Master Qui-Gon was-" He pauses for a long moment, searching for the words. "-Revived, I suppose. Though he has no memories of his life before, and he's a young man again.” Anakin looks thoughtful, as if the weight of the universe is on his shoulders.

“Do I have to go back to being his padawan?” He asks finally and Obi-Wan makes a quiet noise, eyes looking wounded.

“No. Anakin. You'll stay my padawan.”

“Even if Master Yoda says I have to?”

“Even if Master Yoda says you have to.” Obi-Wan agrees quietly. “You're staying with me. I promised Master Qui-Gon, _our_ Master Qui-Gon that I would train you. I'm not breaking that promise, Anakin.”

“Okay.” Anakin gives a decisive nod. There's a look in his eye that Obi-Wan won't be able to decipher for a few more years, it's got a calculated edge to it and then Anakin gives a little smirk, as if he already knows the answer to this particular question. “Can we get ice cream?”

XxX XxX

Once Anakin has been stuffed full of ice cream(two scoops of Naboo Taboo and another of Coruscanti Cream) and sent back to class, Obi-Wan wanders through the temple, absent mind and focusing his thoughts on enjoying the single scoop of Moonus Mandel Mudslide that Anakin had insisted he get.

He hears footsteps and senses Master Windu behind him.   Obi-Wan moves out of the middle of the hall, not wanting to draw the attention of the vaapad master, which works about as well as he'd thought it would. Master Windu falls into step with him, looking amused to see Obi-Wan with a half eaten cone of ice cream. 

“Master Windu.“ Obi-Wan greets the man with a nod and a tiny sigh of something that feels like annoyance. He pushes the feelings into the force and takes a moment to debate what he should do with his cone, the melting ice cream already starting to drip on his fingers. 

“Knight Kenobi.“ Master Windu nods back and he offers a paper napkin to Obi-Wan who sighs again and takes it, wiping at his hand and then, after another moment’s hesitation, drops the half finished cone in a passing garbage collection droid.   His stomach is turning sour, and the ice cream already eaten isn't sitting well. “How is your young padawan doing?“

“Very well.“ Obi-Wan says immediately. “He's adjusting to life in the temple faster than I thought he would. I'm very impressed with his resilience.” Master Windu nods, humming quietly. 

“And how are you doing?“ Obi-Wan is silent for longer than he means to be, not having expected any of the masters to be looking at him when The Chosen One has finally made his appearance in their lives. 

“As well as can be expected.“ He finally says, and Mace feels no lie from the young knight. Obi-Wan's shields are strong for a young man, but from the mission reports he's received from both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon(may he rest in the force), Mace would be concerned if Obi-Wan's shields weren't as strong as they are. 

“Have you thought of seeing a mind healer?“ Mace asks. He'd rather have his toes chewed off by a gundark than willingly have his brain poked at by one of the mind healers in the medical wing, but he's not the one who's recently suffered a horrifying, traumatic snapping of a padawan bond. Obi-Wan's nose wrinkles up and he makes a face at the suggestion, as if he's forgotten who he's with. Mace joins his hands behind his back, amused at the young knight. 

“I'm well, Master Windu. I would see a mind healer if I felt I needed one.“ Obi-Wan says and Mace nods, tucking his hands into his robes. They both know Obi-Wan is lying, but at such a time, Mace doesn't see the need to call the young knight on it. 

"There's no shame in seeing one." Mace says and Obi-Wan simply nods. He's almost certain Mace Windu has never seen a mind healer in his life, and though he understands from a certain perspective there's no shame in seeing a mind healer, Obi-Wan has come along way from the battle scared padawan he was. And he's had plenty of time, and opportunities to learn the art of compartmentalization. 

"Of course, Master Windu." He echoes Mace's stance, hands tucked into his robes as they walk. "Thank you for your concern." 

"The council carries concern for you." Mace says after a few moments of a shared silence that isn't quite at the level of awkward, but Mace feels that if they put their backs into it, they could get there easily. "Master Mundi expressed concern that you were still connected to Qui-Gon when he-"

"Master Mundi can put his mind at ease." Obi-Wan says, as carefully as he possibly can, interrupting Mace before he can speak the words Obi-Wan dreads hearing. "My bond with Qui-Gon was never strong enough to cause me significant grief when it was severed." It stings to say it out loud, to admit it to a man his master considered a friend and confidant. He doesn't look at Mace's face when he speaks. 

Mace stops and Obi-Wan forces himself to stay in one place. He doesn't want to have this conversation with anyone, let alone Mace Windu. "I apologize for overstepping my boundaries." Mace says and wraps strong fingers around Obi-Wan's bicep, guiding him at a hurried pace away along the hallway until they come to the elevator that will take them to the council chambers. It's only when he understands that Obi-Wan yanks himself out of Mace's grip, his breath coming fast and hard, eyes burning, chest tight. 

"He wasn't a bad master." Obi-Wan grits out, suddenly feeling eleven years old again and on the shakey ground of knowing he was about to be forced out of the temple. "He did the best he could. I won't say anything bad about him. You can't make me."

"I'm not asking you to speak badly about Master Jinn, force keep his soul. But you need to tell the council what you told me."

"Why?" Obi-Wan demands it, chin held high and defiant. "What good will it do? He's d-he's _dead _Master Windu. And I'm not going to bring ruin to his name. He did the best he could by me. You can put me in front of the council all you want but I won't speak ill of my master."__

__"You'll tell them what you told me, or I'll tell them myself."_ _

__"Go ahead and tell them then." Obi-Wan says, forcing bravado into his voice as his stomach churns. "I really don't know what you're expecting to get out of that conversation. But if you feel getting the council involved is the best option, than I won't argue with you."_ _

__"I do feel that getting the council involved is the best option." Mace says, voice quiet and calm, as if Obi-Wan is some sort of startled crechling who hasn't been down for his nap yet. "Losing ones master is never an easy thing. Losing ones master while still bonded should have left you comatose for weeks."_ _

__"I don't understand the need to bring the council into this." Obi-Wan offers, as diplomatically as he can. "I'm not suffering any after effects. That should be a good thing." He stares up at Mace, stubborn to the core. "Besides, what is speaking of my severed bond in front of the council going to do, but smear the name of a good man that many _on_ the council considered a good friend and an exemplary Jedi."_ _

__"I wouldn't call him exemplary." Mace replies, but his face softens a touch as he observes the young knight, carrying far too much weight on his thin shoulders. "This needs to be addressed, Obi_Wan. And not to smear the name of a good man."_ _

__"Than why?" Obi-Wan asks again, his shields wobbling a touch under the grief he's doing his best to push into the force. Mace puts hands on his shoulders and crouches down so he's at eye level with Obi-Wan._ _

__"We were under the impression that you had formed a padawan bond with your master." He says, as gently as possible, not wanting to upset Obi-Wan more. "And to discover that the bond we thought was little more than a string connecting you to your master is alarming. Very alarming." Obi-Wan swallows and then nods._ _

__"Alright." He offers, voice quiet. "I'll speak to the council." Mace nods and gives Obi-Wan's shoulders a squeeze. He stands and herds the young knight into the elevator, giving instruction for the council chambers and gives Obi-Wan space. Obi-Wan tucks his hands into his sleeves in the same manner Qui-Gon always had and for a moment Mace feels grief rise up before he pushes it out into the force, focusing on peace._ _

__The doors open and several eyes focus on the two men stepping out of the elevator. It's a ghost council today, only three members, four including Mace in attendance. Masters Yaddle, Kit Fisto, and Ki-Adi Mundi._ _

__"Master Mace. Knight Kenobi." Ki-Adi greets them, putting his mug of tea down._ _

__"I'm going to cut through the red tape of greeting my fellow masters." Mace says, and moves to his seat, leaving Obi-Wan to stand in the center of the room, shoulders awkwardly hunched. "Knight Kenobi. Would you like to speak, or should I?" Obi-Wan shakes his head, and opens his mouth a few times before his voice finally works._ _

__"Members of the council. Esteemed Masters of the order. It is a great privaledge to stand before you on this day."_ _

__"Kenobi." Mace's voice is stern and Obi-Wan finally sighs and looks down at the floor._ _

__"I never had a fully formed padawan bond with my master." The council chamber is silent for a very long moment and Obi-Wan can feel tension rising in the force until finally Ki-Adi speaks._ _

__"Are you able to go into more detail, Knight Kenobi?" Obi-Wan takes a breath and releases it on a tired sounding sigh, nodding._ _

__"I suppose it's only best to start at the beginning." He says, looking down at his hands, scarred and calloussed from his years in the field and then looking up at mace. "Can I have a chair? This is a rather long story."_ _


	6. Lessons Learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I wanted to say thank you for all the kudo's and comments. I am absolutely blown away by your love of what started out as a simple throw away ficlette! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under the-last-hair-bender. :)

"Qui-Gon never wanted me as a padawan." Obi-Wan says. All at once it strikes home, that he was never wanted by his master. Not once. It's out in the open now and he can never take it back. He can feel the hot stab of grief in his heart and swallows around the lump in his throat taking a long time before he's ready to speak without breaking. He doesn't look up, doesn't want to see the looks of concern on the faces of the council. "I look back at the past and I can see that he was still suffering from the loss of Xanatos, both as his padawan and his turn to the darkness."

The council members share a look and Yaddle speaks, green face scrunched in displeasure. "Yoda." Obi-Wan nods. 

"Yes. My master told me once, after a particularly hard mission, that he'd taken me as a padawan on the urging of his grandmaster. And that there were days when he wasn't sure if he'd made the right choice."

“He said what?“ Master Mundi’s voice is outraged and Obi-Wan takes a long moment to keep himself composed. It wouldn't do to break out in hysterical laughter while he's speaking of his upbringing at the hands of a master that Obi-Wan did his best to hold in the reverence a padawan is supposed to hold for their master. 

“Ki-Adi.“ Mace shoots his fellow council member a sharp look. “I urge you to hold your tongue until Knight Kenobi is finished.“

“Thank you, Master Windu.“ Obi-Wan nods at the man and takes a breath, wishing for a cup of tea so that he wouldn't be thinking of fidgeting his fingers. “We had a rocky relationship at best, my master and I.“ He looks down at his fingers, folding his hands carefully together in his lap. “Nothing I did was good enough for him. Ever. I was too slow, too clumsy, too quick to anger.” Mace frowns at the near inaudible quiver in Obi-Wan’s voice and flicks a switch on his chair, calling for an attendant. 

He orders a round of strong tea for the council, and for Obi-Wan who looks like he needs it. And perhaps a shot of something stronger. 

“Can you tell us about your bond, young Kenobi?“ Yaddle asks as a teapot and four cups is carried into the room on a fine enamel tray. 

“I thought at first it was normal.“ Obi-Wan says, taking tea when it's offered and focussing on the warmth that seems through the thick wall of the mug. “And later, I thought there was something wrong with me. I brought it up with my master just once and he told me he couldn't lose another padawan and-” his voice breaks and he lifts the cup, using the too hot tea as an excuse for not speaking, waiting until he's calm again. “He told me he knew I would fall. Too quick to anger.“ He echoes his earlier words, feeling familiar pain swirl through him. “He didn't want to waste himself on another who would only betray him in the end.“

“Oh child.“ Yaddle croaks it and when he looks up he's surprised to see tears in her eyes. Obi-Wan takes a bracing sip of his tea and holds it, too hot, on his tongue. As if it’s a punishment rather than something meant to soothe.

“It was after that conversation that I stopped fighting what seemed to be inevitable.” Obi-Wan tells the council, drawing himself up into the savvy-tongued negotiator Qui-Gon had trained. “I knew we would never have the sort of relationship other Padawan’s have with their masters, and to hope for such a thing simply seemed selfish. He might not have been a perfect master. But he did his best by me under the circumstances of our lives.”

There’s a long bout of silence in the council chamber before Ki-Adi finally speaks. “It’s not Qui-Gon’s _questionable_ training methods we are here to discuss. It is the question of your knowledge and ability in forming a proper bond with your padawan.” A look is shared between the three council members, and then Yaddle speaks.

“It is this standing council’s decision that you will study the art of forming a proper bond with a Master so that your own padawan will not be affected by your unfortunate lack of knowledge on bonding.” Her scratchy voice is filled with kindness, and it helps to temper the hurt and anger Obi-Wan feels, helps him to push the unkind emotions out into the Force where they belong.

“Yes Masters.” He inclines his head and finishes his tea in silence, keeping to his own thoughts until the cup is finished. “Thank you for your time and understanding.” He says, getting to his feet and offering a graceful bow that makes the corners of Mace’s mouth twitch in a slight show amusement that helps to burn through some of the rage he’s pushing out into the Force.

“We have nothing but time.” Ki-Adi says with a kind smile. Obi-Wan returns it and then turns smoothly on his heel, leaving the councillors to their counselling.

XxX XxX

Enough time has passed by the time Obi-Wan leaves the tower that houses that council chambers, that Anakin’s afternoon classes have gotten out, and he goes to collect the boy. He watches Anakin as they walk, as the boy talks about the star charts they’d worked on, and how despite the fact he’d never been off Tatooine before last week, he’d known more systems than anyone else in the class.

Obi-Wan smiles and ruffles the boy’s hair, pleased that he hadn’t come out of astronomy class with more complaints, as he had with languages the day before last, certain the teacher was singling him out. Of course, teaching the other students how to curse in huttese certainly hadn’t helped the reputation he was building himself for being surly and uncooperative.  
“I heard you got taken to see the councillors.” Anakin says out of the blue and Obi-Wan blinks in surprise at the sudden change in conversation, looking down at his padawan. “Was it because of me?”

“It was not.” He offers. “Though I think if you keep telling the other students to call their teacher a sleemo, I’ll probably be called in to supervise a disciplinary hearing.”

“What?” Anakin looks up at him, confusion on his young face and Obi-Wan gives him a cheeky little grin. 

“Keep it up brat and you’ll get us both in trouble.”

“Oh.” Anakin gives a wheezing laugh that sounds like a flight belt needing adjustment. “You don’t have to talk like a senator when it’s just us you know.”

“How dare you, small sir. The manner in which I speak has nothing at all in common with that of the senate.” Obi-Wan puts his hand on his chest in mock offense and Anakin wheezes with laughter, clutching onto Obi-Wan’s sleeve as they walk. “So. What would you like for your evening meal, cheeky brat?”

“Something normal.” Anakin offers, looking up at Obi-Wan and crossing his eyes. “Nothing gross like sushi.”

“Well. I suppose slime beetle soup is out of the question.” Obi-Wan teases, waiting to see Anakin’s face screw up in horror. Instead, he gets a thoughtful look and a little smirk.

“You guys have that here? My mom makes the best slime beetle stew in the whole galaxy. It’s extra slimey, and she leaves the beetles whole so you can crunch them down and then pick your teeth with their legs.” He gives it a moment, waits for Obi-Wan’s face to start turning green. “I’m just joking. I’ve only had it once and it was really awful.” Obi-Wan shudders and then thumps the top of his padawan’s head with a closed fist.

“You, young Skywalker. Are a menace.” Anakin turns his head up and positively beams at Obi-Wan.

“That’s what mom always said too.”

XxX XxX

They wind up getting a few things and Obi-Wan shows Anakin how to prepare a simple dish of a rich broth swimming with noodles, slivered vegetables, and chunks of meat. He was always the one who cooked for both him and Qui-Gon. At first because Qui-Gon could barely drag himself out of bed in the mornings they lived in the temple, and then later because Qui-Gon couldn’t be bothered. Obi-Wan takes a breath and pushes the thoughts from his his mind and out into the Force where they belong.

Anakin makes pleased noises as he eats, slurping down three bowls of the stuff before Obi-Wan cuts him off. “You’re a growing padawan, and you need proper nutrition.” He tells Anakin. “But if you have any more broth you’re going to have an upset stomach tonight. If you’re still hungry you can have some fruit.”

“Really?” Anakin eyes him a bit. “It’s not for special occasions?”

“Not at all.” Obi-Wan says, feeling his heart squeeze at the simple pleasure of being able to give Anakin what feels like the world. “You can have as much as you want, when you want. I told you before that the kitchen is open to you at all hours of the day or night.”

“Unless I’m in class.” Anakin says with a pleased little smile and Obi-Wan smiles back and gets up to deal with the dishes and leftovers while Anakin takes three Jugan fruits and goes to sit at the table. It’s so wonderfully domestic having a padawan in his living space, feeling Anakin’s joy sparkling in the Force for anyone to feel, and Obi-Wan hums while he cleans, his own tired soul sparkling with joy. He’s missed this, feeling happy.

Who knew he just needed a padawan of his own to it.

As if on cue, the door buzzer sounds, and Anakin practically leap off his cushion to answer it, racing to the front door and yanking it open with a half pleased, half surly “What do you want?’ greeting that Obi-Wan is going to have to put some serious work into changing. He gives a little sigh, wringing out the dish rag and hanging it on the wall hook and dries off his hands, slinging the towel over his shoulder and making his way to the front door where he can hear a murmured conversation, the door held mostly closed, the safety latch still hooked in place.

“Anakin, who is it?” Obi-Wan asks, thumbing over the latch to disengage it and pulling the door open fully. Anakin places himself squarely in front of Obi-Wan, like he’s going to protect him single handedly from the man at the door. “Master Windu.”

“Knight Kenobi.” Mace gives what seems to be a neutral smile and a bow of greeting. “Padawan Skywalker. Might I come in?”

“Of course, please make-”

“-No!” Anakin interrupts. His shielding still needs quite a bit of work, and both Mace and Obi-Wan can feel his possessive displeasure radiating in sharp, vicious spikes. 

“Give us a moment.” Obi-Wan tells the Council member and shuts the door in his face, crouching down in front of Anakin. “What’s wrong?”  
“I don’t want him in our house.” Anakin spits it out and Obi-Wan doesn’t even need to be Force sensitive to feel the venom coursing through his words.

“Alright.” Obi-Wan nods. “I’ll speak to him in the hallway. He won’t come in out house.” He’s a bit lost as to what brought on this outburst, but figures it has a lot to do with Anakin’s life on Tattooine. They’ll have words later, but for now, Master Windu is waiting in the hallway and he’s never been the world's most patient man, or so Obi-Wan has been told.

He stands and opens the door again, stepping outside, though he’s surprised when Anakin follows him, glaring up at Mace with all the ferocity of a wild dog, a tiny hand clutching tightly to Obi-Wan’s robes, as if he’s afraid Mace is going to take him- oh. 

“Anakin. The entire temple is a place of safety.” He tells his padawan. “And Master Windu simply needs-” He remembers Anakin’s words from earlier and takes a breath. “Master Windu needs to talk to me about one of the problems I was having earlier today. That’s all, he’s not here to take me away.” Anakin’s fierce glare lessens, though his hand stays clenched in Obi-Wan’s robes, and he gives a sharp nod. 

Ah well, Obi-Wan muses. It’s better he find out now than later. 

Mace, for all the trouble they’ve put him through in the last two minutes, seems more amused than angry and crouches down to look Anakin in the eye. “Your master-”

“We don’t use that word.” Obi-Wan interrupts, and Mace’s ever vigilant eyes see Anakin’s carefully guarded flinch.

“Your-” Mace looks up at Obi-Wan, eyebrows raised in a silent question.”

“Guardian.” Obi-Wan supplies and lets Anakin wind small fingers through his own, squeezing his padawan’s hand. 

“Your guardian is correct.” Mace says calmly. “I’m just here to speak to him about things we talked about earlier.”

“Fine.” Anakin says bluntly. “Then talk.” Mace looks up at Obi-Wan who looks the very picture of serenity in the midst of chaos and then nods, standing.

“Alright. The council has decided that the best Mas-uh. The best guardian for the job of teaching you how to form a proper bond, is myself.”

“Why?” Obi-Wan asks, a slight lift to his chin, a twinkle of stubbornness in the Force. “I know Master Mundi has trained several padawans to completion. As has Master Fisto. What makes you the best applicant for the position, Master Windu?” He gets a hard stare in return and Anakin makes a soft noise that sounds a lot like a strangled laugh. Obi-Wan squeezes his hand and doesn’t take his eyes off of Mace, who seems to be restrategizing. “If you were expecting me to simply follow along with your word like a docile youngling offered a bit of candy, you have your work cut out for you, Guardian Windu.” Mace looks like he’s developing a headache and Obi-Wan gives him a serene smile, the sort that Qui-Gon used to give everyone while he talked himself out of whatever trouble he’d gotten himself into that week.

It looks out of place on Obi-Wan and reminds Mace why he’s come here. “To be honest, Obi-Wan.” He drops the formality of his speech. This isn’t a debate, this is a serious issue that needs to be taken care of now, rather than later. “I wasn’t chosen. I volunteered.”

“I see.”

“To put it bluntly. You don’t.” Mace says. “I knew Qui-Gon best, out of all my fellow councillors, or at least, I thought I did. I’m not here to debate with you on whether or not I’d make the best teacher for you in the matter of forming bonds, but the matter of it is that I am here. And you need to learn this. For the sake of your own padawan.” Obi-Wan hides his flinches better than Anakin holds his, but Mace still sees the well hidden pain flash through his eyes before it’s gone, masked behind faint amusement and a touch of boredom.

“Then learn it I will.” Obi-Wan agrees, running a thumb over the top of Anakin’s hand when his padawan gives a nervous squeeze. “But not tonight, and not here. I’ll meet you in the gardens tomorrow morning, once Anakin is in his first class.”

“I’m coming with you.” Anakin says, stubborn as a mule.

“You are going to class and if I find out you’ve skipped again I’ll sell you back to Watto.” Obi-Wan mutters it. Mace raises an eyebrow, wondering if he needs to have a talk about boundaries with Obi-Wan when Anakin snorts out a laugh and presses his face against Obi-Wan’s arm.

“Promises promises.”

“Tomorrow.” Obi-Wan tells Mace, already turning to herd his padawan back inside. “After the third bell. I’ll meet you by the Durang tree.” The door opens and shuts and Mace is left out in the hallway, a headache starting to build in his temples. He starts to wonder if taking this job was the right thing to do and immediately pushes the thought out into the Force. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi already had one master fail him. He doesn’t need another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. As many of you probably noticed, Obi-Wan doesn't use the term master in regards to himself. He had a talk with Anakin about the word and they both agreed that because of his upbringing it would be better to use a neutral term.
> 
> Anakin hasn't had to deal with a lot of the other masters around the temple as of yet, so he hasn't had to call them by their 'proper' titles. Which, will no doubt be addressed in a later chapter.
> 
> He has no issues with Obi-Wan using the term 'Master' because Obi-Wan explained to him it's a form of respect, and told him that he absolutely didn't have to use it if it made him feel icky and that he'd deal with the fallout himself.
> 
> Nothing like the old 'He's a former slave' argument to make people back the fuck off your padawan, amIright? Eh? Eh?
> 
> Anywho, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Hopefully we'll see Qui-Gon again sometime. I'm starting to miss that guy. :)


	7. Starting the Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I know some of you had questions last chapter about the comment Obi-Wan made about selling Anakin back to Watto if he skipped any more classes. 
> 
> Anakin and Obi-Wan both use morbid humor as a coping mechanism because they've both had shitty lives. That's about all their is too it. 
> 
> And as for Anakin disliking Mace? He's just super over protective of his Obi-Wan. It's not really a personal thing, he just doesn't like anything that makes Obi-Wan feel bad.
> 
> Also. I've had three days off in a row, which is why you got two chapters back to back. I go back to my regular work schedule after today, so the next update won't be for at least a week or so.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your excitement in regards to this story. I'm really really blown away with your love for my work and I want to thank each and every one of you for your comments and kudo's. 
> 
> <3

There’s a disturbance in the force.

Obi-Wan’s face scrunches up in his sleep and rolls over, cracking open an eye to see the time. What he sees instead is Anakin’s bright blue eyes, closer than he’s ever let anyone get to him unless there was a specific _reason_ for it. Everything inside him freezes up in _fight-or-flight_ terror for longer than he’d like, and it’s through exquisitely developed control that he doesn’t slam his padawan into the wall with the Force.

Instead, he very carefully puts some distance between the two of them and sits up, hands shaking from excess adrenaline coursing through a pre-caffed body. “Anakin. What are you doing in my room?”

“It’s six. You’re usually up by now. And I wanted to talk to you.” The boy shrugs and Obi-Wan takes a very careful breath, holding it for ten seconds before he lets it out, pushing whatever complex emotions he doesn’t want to dig into this early out with it.

“Anakin. I knock on your door. I need you to do the same for me.”

“I _did_ knock.” Anakin insists, though he looks a touch guilty. Obi-Wan eyes him and Anakin blurts out his thoughts before Obi-Wan can derail them with his Jedi magic. “I’m sick.”

“Oh for Force sakes.” Obi-Wan sighs it and sinks back down to lay on the pillows. “Please not this again. I don’t have the energy for it this morning.”

“Do I hafta go to classes today? Can’t I just stay with you?”

“Yes and no.” Obi-Wan says, putting a weary arm over his face. “We can’t keep having this argument every morning Anakin.”

“I _know_.” Anakin tugs on the hem of his undershirt. “I’m not really sick.” He mumbles it and then crawls under the covers of Obi-Wan’s bed, curling up beside his guardian. Obi-Wan goes immediately stiff and then forces himself to relax. 

“Anakin?”

“I don’t want you to meet with the guy.”

“Master Windu?” Obi-Wan asks, turning his head to eye his padawan when Anakin grabs his arm and maneuvers it so there’s some clear cuddling going on. Obi-Wan isn’t sure what to make of it, but it’s....it’s nice. “Is there a reason?”

“I have a bad feeling.” Anakin offers, peering up under his lashes, bottom lip sucked into his mouth, eyes wide and a touch sad. He looks like the sort of stray puppy you’d find on the street in the rain and Obi-Wan just raises an eyebrow at him.

“You need to work on your ‘I’m just sad little sand urchin’ look.” He says dryly and Anakin snickers despite himself, wriggling around a bit and resting his head on Obi-Wan’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Is it an actual bad feeling or a if you give me the sad puppy face I’ll give in and let you stay home from class bad feeling?.”

“The second one.” Anakin says, with an enormous sigh, as if the weight of Coruscant rests on his narrow shoulders. Obi-Wan lifts his hand, hesitating for a long moment before he settles it on Anakin’s narrow back, feeling the bumps and ridges of his spine through the sleeping shirt.

“I will make you a deal.” Obi-Wan says and Anakin’s head pops up. “I will let you stay home for your morning classes but you have to go to your afternoon ones. _Just_ for today.” He makes sure to specify. Anakin is clever when he wants to be and Obi-Wan isn’t about to give him any loop holes to argue about later.

“Can I come with you to the gardens?” Obi-Wan raises his eyebrow and Anakin gives him the sad little sand urchin face, complete with a wobbling lip. “Please?”

“No.” Obi-Wan says, completely unimpressed. Anakin sighs in complete and utter defeat and lets his head fall back down on Obi-Wan’s chest. “Besides. You’re supposed to be sick. If you’re sick you stay in bed in case someone comes to check up on you.”

“You’re going to leave me here all _alone?_ ” Anakin asks in a tiny voice that Obi-Wan _knows_ is meant to make him feel guilty. And the worst part is it works. He slaps a hand over his face and gives a long, low groan.

“Anakin _please._ ” He peeks between his fingers to find Anakin pouting at him. For a moment he wants to give in, to let Anakin come along with him, but he knows that if he doesn’t set boundaries now, he’ll suffer for it later. “If you want to skip your morning classes I am willing to let you do it this once. But you need to stay here, in our rooms. And if you’re concerned about staying here alone, I will arrange for someone to come stay with you until I get back, alright?” He gives Anakin’s back a gentle pat and gets a disgusted sigh in return.

“I’ll go to my classes.” Anakin mutters it and rolls off out from under the covers, stalking back to his rooms and leaving Obi-Wan feeling guilty and not knowing why. He takes a breath and pushes himself up. He needs to shower, dress, and make breakfast for the two of them before their days begin.

XxX XxX

Anakin hadn’t put up any more fuss about skipping classes or being sick, which made Obi-Wan instantly suspicious. He walked his padawan directly to class, gave him the lunch he’d packed, and spoke quietly to the instructor, that if Anakin asked to use the bathroom before the fourth bell to keep him in the class, and that if he insisted he was sick, that Bant Eerin from the healing wing should be contacted to take him back to the apartment. Once Anakin was settled at his desk, sulking into his coursework, Obi-Wan took his leave.

He made it to the meditation garden with a few moments to spare, slightly out of breath from running the last little ways. There are a few Jedi Masters with their padawans milling around, and he gets a couple of raised eyebrows from his disheveled state which is put back to order as quickly as possible. One doesn’t meet the Master of the Order looking like a ragamuffin.

As it turns out, Mace is the one running behind, though he brings tea in biodegradable cups as an apology. “Knight Kenobi.”

“Master Windu.” The two men greet each other with a standard bow and Mace hands over Obi-Wan’s tea. Double steeped tisane with a single cube of sugar. “My thanks.” Obi-Wan takes the cup, swirling the tea and waiting for Mace to start waxing poetic on whatever it is that will be the first lesson of forming a proper bond.

But. Nothing happens. Mace doesn’t speak, just sips his tea and walks through the garden with Obi-Wan at his side, trying to puzzle out what it is he’s supposed to be learning from this experience. And finally, when the tea is gone and the cups disposed of, when they’re seated beneath a great oak tree that might be older than Yoda himself, Mace finally speaks.

“A bond, Kenobi, is meant to draw the souls of two people into one. It is meant to bind them together, hence the name.” Obi-Wan gives a hesitant nod, brows furrowed. “You shared play bonds with your age mates?”

“Just three.” Obi-Wan offers. “Bant Eerin, Reeft, and Garen Muln.” Mace cocks his head and raises an eyebrow.

“I distinctly remember you hanging out with Master Tholme’s trouble maker.” Obi-Wan’s freckles vanish in a blush that makes his face burn hot and he follows a long branch with his eyes.

“We shared....something else.” 

“Ah.” Mace Windu manages to pack a hell of a lot into a single syllable and Obi-Wan can feel his ears burning, knows his entire face is the colour of a boiled lobster. 

“Play bonds.” Obi-Wan stammers out. “Let’s get back to those.”

“Indeed.” Mace’s voice carries a great deal of amusement and he leans back against the bench they’re sitting on, lounging, as if he’s the lord of some great castle. Though, he is the Master of the Order, Obi-Wan thinks, eyeing him, his blush starting to subside. Technically everything here is under his control. “When was the last time you formed a bond that meant something to you?” Mace asks, curious and looking for the easiest way to get past Obi-Wan’s impressive shielding and start the seed that will grow and flourish to create a proper bond.

“Nineteen years ago.” Obi-Wan offers quietly and very carefully doesn’t look at Mace. “It was a pairbond with Garen and it’s still active.” There’s a feeling of pure, explosive rage being pushed into the Force and carried very far away from them. It makes him flinch away from Mace unintentionally and very suddenly there’s strong fingers cupping his chin and tilting his head up.

“I’m going to ask you something and I need you to be honest with me.” Mace says, dark eyes caught on Obi-Wan’s wide ones. “Did Qui-Gon ever strike you?”

“No.” It’s a whisper at first and Obi-Wan tugs his chin from Mace’s hand. “No.” He says it with more conviction. “He never hit me. Anger, specific types of anger feel like a warzone to me.” He explains. “And I’ve had enough of that feeling to last me a lifetime or two.” It’s said in a wry, joking tone and Mace understands that this is Obi-Wan’s attempt at placating him. Built up from a lifetime of always having to cater to someone else's emotions.

Mace just watches Obi-Wan for a long moment. “Are you alright with me touching you?’

“What kind of touch?” Obi-Wan asks, more cautious than curious and Mace offers his hand. “You want to hold hands?” Obi-Wan asks, giving a little smirk. “Isn’t that a little juvenile?”

“Probably the way you’ve been holding hands.” Mace offers with his own smirk and Obi-Wan swallows, rubbing his palm on his leggings before he lifts it and sets it over Mace’s enormous palm, feeling a shiver run up his spine when Mace’s long fingers slip between his own and close, thumb running tenderly over the back of Obi-Wan’s hand. “So? Still juvenile?”

Obi-Wan’s eyes flick up to Mace’s and there’s a hint of a blush staining his cheeks. “Not so juvenile, no.” 

“Obi-Wan? I thought that was you. What are you doing here with-oh!” Qui-Gon’s eyes fall to the joined hands of his old friend and his apparent former padawan. “Oh. I didn’t know it was-you were. I’m sorry.”

Obi-Wan yanks his hand from Mace’s like he’s been burned, eyes huge and what little colour he’d had draining. “Oh. No. It’s not-we’re not.”

“Force fuck a sith.” Mace mutters under his breath and gets to his feet, slightly amused at Obi-Wan’s scandalized expression at his swearing. “That will be all for our lesson today, Knight Kenobi. I’ll meet you tomorrow the same place we met today.” He tucks his hands into his sleeves and waits for Obi-Wan to decide if he wants to make an escape or not. The young knight’s gaze keeps flicking between his Qui-Gon and Mace, as if his decision to leave or stay is a life threatening one. “I’ll take my leave of you.” Mace says, offering a little bow and taking the decision out of Obi-Wan’s hands. “Qui-Gon.”

“Mace.” He gets a surprisingly filthy side eye, which is unexpected, as he passes. 

Interesting developments.

“So.” Qui-Gon turns his attention to Obi-Wan who looks a touch miserable, as if he’d been caught taking an extra helping of dessert. “What’s he teaching you?” 

“That’s a private matter.” Obi-Wan immediately snaps. “And none of your concern.”

“I’m just asking.” Qui-Gon holds his hands up to show he’s unarmed. “You two looked pretty cozy, and I don’t know if you know this, but Mace worked his way through the temple before he got all puffed up from being on the council.”

“He....what?” Obi-Wan looks up, brow furrowed and Qui-Gon makes a fairly crude hand gesture to get his meaning across without words. Obi-Wan’s face all but explodes in a blush that makes his ears glow hot and red. “I’m not-he’s not. It’s not _like_ that.” He stammers out. “He’s instructing me.”

“Yeah. That always was his favorite _game._ ” Qui-Gon agrees, crouching down in front of Obi-Wan and putting his hands on Obi-Wan’s knees. He keeps the contact even when he feels the younger man flinch and stiffen, figuring he’s just touch starved, needs a little loosening up. “Just be careful. You know him as the pompous windbag, I knew him as a horny knight.”

Obi-Wan takes one careful breath, then another, and leans forward, pushing Qui-Gon’s hands off his knees. “I don’t like being touched, and I don’t appreciate your tone or your words. I need to go pick up my Padawan.”

“It’s not even fourth bell.” Qui-Gon raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t he still in class.” Obi-Wan draws himself up, wrapping himself in what little dignity he has left, now that Qui-Gon Jinn thinks Mace Windu sees him as nothing more than a notch in a bedpost, and offers his best icy stare.

“He wasn’t feeling well this morning and I’m going to check up on him. Would you like me to run all of today’s plans past you or is that enough information for now?” His voice is deliberately chilly, words aimed to cut and slash.

“Force. Sorry for trying to help you.” Qui-Gon leans back, rolling his eyes. “Next time I won’t say anything and you can learn those lessons the hard way.”  
“That’s how I got my _entire_ education.” Obi-Wan spits out, venomous. “The hard way. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a padawan to check up on.” He shoves himself to his feet, stalking off towards the temple entrance, tucking his shaking hands into his sleeves to hide them.

 

XxX XxX

He checks in on Anakin and then goes back to his apartments, crawling under the blankets fully clothed and pulling them over his head. His entire body aches like he’s caught the flu, and all he wants is to disappear, just vanish into the Force and leave everything and everyone behind. If he didn’t have Anakin to take care of-

It would be so easy. So so easy. Go to the medical wing, tell them he’s having trouble sleeping and come home with a bottle of pills meant to ease him into slumber. He could just go to sleep and never wake up again. Never have to deal with anything every again. It would be so easy. So easy. So easy. It cycles through his head like a mantra until his body finally shuts down and pulls his mind into sleep. 

He’s woken later by a knock on the door, and then the door being pushed open. “Obi-Wan? Are you okay?”

“I’m-” He hesitates, trying to find the lie that’s waiting on the tip of his tongue, trying to push it out where it will comfort Anakin. “I don’t know.” He finally offers. Anakin’s mouth thins into a little line and then he nods. 

“Just stay there.” He tells Obi-Wan and leaves. The familiar sound of someone rummaging around the kitchen filters through to the bedroom and finally Anakin comes back with leftover soup, steaming hot in a bowl. “You should eat something. It’ll make you feel less tired.” His young face is tight with the sort of worry Obi-Wan never wanted him to feel and he sits up, feeling like eight shades of hell for being so weak.

“Thank you Anakin.” It’s a quiet murmur and he takes the soup, balancing it on his knee and holding it steady while Anakin crawls into the bed beside him. 

“Mom got like this sometimes.” He says, maneuvering himself through bedsheets until he’s pressed snugly up against Obi-Wan’s side. “Food helps. So does a long hug. It’ll get better, Obi-Wan. You just have to let it.” 

“You are very wise.” Obi-Wan offers with a smile, blowing on the hot broth. The first bite is like a balm on his weary body, and he finishes the entire bowl in what feels like a few bites. “You’re right. That did help. So, what was next on your list? A long hug?”

“Mm hmm.” Anakin wraps thin arms around Obi-Wan and squeezes, pressing his face into Obi-Wan’s side. “Life is bad sometimes. But it always gets good again. Mom used to say you can’t have light without a few shadows.”

“Your mother is a very wise woman.” Obi-Wan says with a little sigh, wrapping one arm around Anakin’s shoulders and pressing his cheek to soft spikes of hair. “Thank you Anakin. You’ve made me feel worlds better.”

“Good.” Anakin smiles, and on impulse, presses a smacking kiss to Obi-Wan’s side, like his mother used to do when he’d injured himself. It doesn’t _really_ help, but it makes you think it helps, and that’s all that matters. Obi-Wan needs help, even if it’s just pretend help. “Did you learn how to bond today?”

“I was in the process of learning it.” Obi-Wan sighs it out and then pulls Anakin fully into his lap to wrap both arms around him. “And then Qui-Gon interrupted us, quite rudely in fact.”

“You shoulda punched him in the nose.” Anakin offers and Obi-Wan snorts out a laugh.

“I’ll consider that for next time.” 

“Xov Posma kept telling me I was cheap labour and I’d be lucky if anyone paid five credits for me. An then I punched him in his stupid face and then we were friends after.” Anakin says and Obi-Wan smiles despite himself.

“So, if I punch Qui-Gon we’ll be friends after?”

“You should just punch him and ignore being friends.” Anakin says, fiddling with Obi-Wan’s robe. “He hurt you.”

“I wouldn’t call it hurt, so much as annoyance.” 

“Not today.” Anakin’s eyes flick up to Obi-Wan’s and then he looks back down at his fingers. “Before. He shouldn’t have done that. An I was mad at him for it. An I was gonna tell him I was mad, an then he died.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan draws his padawan in for a tight hug, feeling off balance. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Anakin says, voice muffled by Obi-Wan's chest. “Can we go get lunch now?”

“Yes we can.” Obi-Wan takes a breath, and then drops a light kiss on top of Anakin’s head, the Force bubbling with happiness around the two of them. “Lunch and then ice cream.”

“Can I skip my-”

“No you cannot skip your afternoon classes.” Obi-Wan laughs and Anakin grins up at him, relieved that Obi-Wan doesn’t feel like grief and sadness anymore.


	8. Late for the party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for all the absolutely amazing reviews you've sent me the past few days! You're all fantastic! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Mace is a harder man to track down than he used to be. He isn’t at any of his usual hangouts, and finally, in a fit of desperation, Qui-Gon goes to the tower that houses the council chambers and finds the man there.

“There you are.” He scowls down at the seated councillor. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Mace doesn’t respond, just raises a single eyebrow and Qui-Gon’s scowl deepens. He casts a conspiratorial glance around at Ki-Adi, who was ancient even in Qui-Gon’s age and then looks back at Mace. “So. What exactly are you teaching Obi-Wan? Your favorite position?” There’s a choked sound from behind them and Mace takes a deep breath and brings a hand up to massage his temples.

“Ki-Adi. Excuse us.”

“Take all the time you need.” Ki-Adi replies, far more amused than he should be and Mace rumbles an annoyed growl, pushing himself to his feet. 

“Qui-Gon.” He gives the knight a nod and leaves the council chamber, Qui-Gon at his heels.Mace waits until they’re in the elevator to speak again. “There is a time and a place for flippant remarks, and the council chamber is neither.”

“Touched a nerve, did I?” Qui-Gon asks and Mace lifts a hand and slaps Qui-Gon upside the head, just hard enough to sting. “Ow, hey!”

“Am I interested in bedding Obi-Wan? Perhaps I will be when he’s older. As it stands he’s young enough to be my _padawan_.”

“See, the thing about big age gaps is that he’ll always be young enough to be your padawan.” Qui-Gon points out and Mace gives a frustrated sigh.

“I am not sober enough for this conversation.” He groans it and Qui-Gon brightens. 

“Wanna hit up Avalon?”

“Avalon shut down ten years ago.” Mace says, suddenly feeling aged beyond his years. “We’ll drink in my room. I’d rather this conversation be overheard.”

“Done and done.” 

XxX XxX

“So. Really? What are you doing hanging out with Obi-Wan and holding hands with him?” Qui-Gon asks, two beers deep. Mace eyes him and finishes his second beer in two swallows and pops open a third.  
“You really want to get into this mess, Qui?” He asks. “Because it’s technically your fault. Not _you_ you. But the other you.”

“Dead me.” Qui-Gon offers and Mace gestures with his beer bottle, frowning when foam shoots over the lip.

“Force take it all. Yes, dead you had a shit load of issues and Yoda thought he was doing the right thing by both of you. Except dead you never wanted a padawan because his last one turned to the dark side and he figured any padawan he trained after that would fall to. Because _clearly_ it was dead you’s fault.” Mace rolls his eyes heavily. “None of us knew this up till last night. But dead you never bonded with Obi-Wan Kenobi because dead you was apparently an enormous piece of bantha poodoo. So I volunteered to teach him how to form a proper bond so he can form a proper bond with his current padawan.” 

“Well.” Qui-Gon looks down at his beer. “Fuck.”

“Pretty much.” Mace agrees. Qui-Gon eyes his old friend for a moment, sipping his beer.

“He’s easy on the eyes, Obi-Wan is.” Mace just scowls at him and takes a drink. “Did he tell you anything else?” 

“You know, if you should be having this conversation with anyone, you should be having it with Obi-Wan.”

“Yeah. I don’t think so.” Qui-Gon taps a fingernail against the glass bottle. “Not that I blame the kid, but he doesn’t seem to like me much.”

“Give him some time.” Mace offers. “He’s been through a hell of a lot in the past few years. He’s resilient, he just needs some time to heal.”

“Has he been to see a mind healer?” Qui-Gon asks, curious. Mace just shrugs. “Is that a yes? A no?”

“No. He hasn’t been to see a mind healer.”

“Why the fuck not?” Qui-Gon demands it. “He just lost his master. He should be-”

“Never had a real bond with the man, remember.” Mace points out and Qui-Gon’s mouth snaps closed, teeth clicking together. He looks pissed off at first, though it gives way to thoughtfulness.

“I’d be willing to bond with him.” He says, rubbing a finger through the condensation ring that’s been left on the table. “You know, if it doesn’t work out with you. It might help him better, having me do it, I mean.” Mace raises a single eyebrow and Qui-Gon scowls at him. “Hey. At least I’d be trying something better than holding his hand in the garden.”

“Qui-Gon. Listen to me.” Mace reaches out and grabs Qui-Gon’s tunic, hauling him half way across the table. “That boy is not a fucking plaything. He is fragile, he is hurting, and until I give the say so, you are going to keep your distance.”

“Okay okay.” Qui-Gon rolls his eyes. “He’s all yours.” Mace gives a disgusted huff and sits back down. “So. Did he say anything else?”

“Just what I told you earlier.” Mace says. “That’s about all I really know of the situation. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were never at the temple for longer than one week at any given time. It’s one of the reasons we never picked up on something being wrong. We got timely mission reports, and they solved crises after crises.” Mace rubs a hand over his face. “I should have seen it. I don’t know how I could’ve missed something that big.”

“Well.” Qui-Gon frowns. “I’ve always been good at keeping things a secret from others. It makes sense that the other one would’ve done the same thing.”

“We would have reprimanded him, yes.” Mace says. “But we would have gotten him help. _Them_ help, before it turned into this enormous mess that we’re still in the process of cleaning up two weeks later. I just wish-”

“I know.” Qui-Gon reaches out to give Mace’s shoulder a pat. “I’m a giant asshole.”

“No. He was.” Mace says absently. “You’re still young and fresh. You haven’t had time to turn into a giant asshole yet. And I’d like to keep it that way for as long as I can.”

“Me too.” Qui-Gon gives a sigh. “So. What do we do now?”

“Well. _Now_ I have to start fresh with Obi-Wan since you fucked up me trying to make him comfortable enough to lower his damn shields.” Mace sighs and Qui-Gon winces, looking away.

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“And you should be. That boy has shielding levels that rival my own and he’s half my age. He’s been through some shit and I’m positive that most of it was never recorded anywhere.” Mace scowls.

“Fucking up official mission reports does sound like something I’d do.” Qui-Gon says, sounding thoughtful and Mace reaches out to punch him in the shoulder.

“Dooku taught you better than that.”  
“Dooku couldn’t stand me.” Qui-Gon rolls his eyes. “I still don’t know why the hell he chose me as his padawan considering I’m everything he disliked all rolled into one.” For a moment the two men pause and then look at each other, uttering a single word in perfect unison.

“ _Yoda._ ”

“He kept putting me in Dooku’s path.” Qui-Gon says, reaching out to pop another beer open. “All the time. Kept shoving me into salle classes with him, made him watch the creche at least once a month.” He rubs at his forehead and takes a deep swallow of beer. “He never. I know he ever would have taken me on as a padawan if he’d made the choice himself.”

“He probably picked all of your padawan’s for you.” Mace says, rubbing at his forehead. “It would make sense. You belong to his line, he probably figured he was just doing what was best by you.”

“Well who fucking asked him!” Qui-Gon spits out and Mace puts a restraining hand on Qui-Gon’s arm, only to have it knocked off. “No. I’m serious. Choosing a padawan is supposed to be an intimate thing. You’re supposed to _know._ The living force tells you and he...and he perverted that so he could sit there and be a smug know-it-all, like he always is.”

“Qui-Gon. Calm down.” Mace says it quietly.

“Dooku never wanted me. And I never wanted Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon puts his head in his hands, looking miserable. “What sort of fucked up game was he playing at?”

“I don’t know.” Mace says, as gently as he can. “I imagine he thought he was-”

“Doing what was best for me?” Qui-Gon interrupts, voice angry and half defeated. “Dooku always used to say that Yoda didn’t care about anything but looks. I didn’t get what he meant then, but I think I get it now.”

“Qui-Gon.” Mace’s voice takes on an authoritative tone. “GrandMaster yoda has been head of the order for-”

“But he’s not head of the order anymore.” Qui-Gon interrupts. “You are.”

“You need to stop and think about what you’re saying.” Mace says, feeling his temper starting to rise and pushing his anger out into the Force. “Yoda is our north star. He guides us in times of strife.”

“Yeah?” Qui-Gon sets his beer bottle down with a hard clink. “Well what happens when your north star becomes corrupted by complacency?” 

“Qui-Gon!”

“You know what Mace. Of all the people I figured, I never thought you’d be the one to grow up a coward who’d take his place to suck on Yoda’s gimmer stick.” 

“That. Is. _ENOUGH!_ ” Mace gets out of his chair and hauls Qui-Gon up out of his. “You are drunk, and you’re going to regret your words in the morning.”

“You used to be fun.” Qui-Gon says mournfully. “What happened to you?”

“I grew up.” Mace rumbles it and gives Qui-Gon a shake, regretting it instantly when the knight bends over and pukes on Mace’s new boots. “Force fuck a sith.” He sighs it and hauls Qui-Gon off to the refresher to get him cleaned up and tucked into Mace’s guest room bed to sleep off the rest of the alcohol.

XxX XxX

Qui-Gon wakes feeling a touch queasy but otherwise fine. He looks around the strange room, wondering if he’s time travelled somewhere else now. “God let it be where people like me.” He mutters and pushes himself out of bed. His robe and tunic are nowhere to be found, and he’s clothed in just his leggings and socks.

Raising an eyebrow at his state of undress, Qui-Gon goes in search of answers, and just as he opens the door, the conversation from last night hits him and he slaps a hand over his face. Mace has to know he gets argumentative when he drinks and he hopes Mace won’t take any of the things he said personally.

He takes a breath and steps out into the main living quarters. Mace isn’t in residence, which is a relief, and there’s a note on the table that reads _I remember what you’re like when you drink too much. I’m not holding your words against you, but you should probably see someone about that chip on your shoulder. - MW_

Qui-Gon gives a long sigh and takes the note, folding it in half and shoving it in his pocket. He leaves Mace’s apartments, making his way to his own, stopping off for caff and a pastry on the way.

It’s while he’s exchanging credits for goods, he sees Obi-Wan’s padawan, sitting at a table alone, watching people go by and kicking his feet against the table legs. It’s a curious thing, since the boy should be in his morning classes, and Qui-Gon purchases an extra pastry and makes his way over to the boy.

“Pardon me. Is this seat taken.” Anakin jumps nearly a foot in the air and eyes Qui-Gon for a moment before he finally shrugs.  
“No.”

“Would you mind it if I sat with you?”

“Depends. You a whomp rat?”

“Last time I checked, I wasn’t a rat of any kind.” Qui-Gon says, hoping for a smile. Instead Anakin rolls his eyes and huffs about a breath. 

“Are you gonna tell Obi-Wan I wasn’t in class?”

“Ah.” Qui-Gon pulls out the chair and sits across from Anakin, passing him a cream filled pastry. “No. I’m not a whomp rat and I won’t be snitching. I skipped my fair share of classes.” Qui-Gon says it wistfully and Anakin’s brows raise, and from his expression it seems Qui-Gon has risen a few notches in his eyes. “The secret is not getting caught.”

“I’ll go back in a bit.” Anakin says. “I told my teacher the food here makes me sick and they don’t make a fuss when I’m away from class for a while when I say I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Sneaky.” Qui-Gon smiles and Anakin just watches him, blue eyes narrowed and observant.

“What did you say to Obi-Wan yesterday? He was really upset.” He demands it and Qui-Gon takes a long sip of caff before he responds.

“Upsetting him wasn’t my intention.”

“Can you stop talking like some stuffed up politician?” Anakin asks, sounding annoyed. “You don’t have to use fancy words to make yourself feel better you know. I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were.” Anakin rolls his eyes and Qui-Gon can feel himself slipping back down to where he was before. A single inch above hutt slime.

“What did you say to him?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your-”

“He doesn’t belong to you.” Anakin interrupts, his chin lifting, stubborn to the core. “He’s mine. And no matter what you do, or what you say. He’s always going to be mine.” Qui-Gon’s eyebrows nearly meet his hairline.

“That’s quite the devotion.”

“He saved me.” Anakin says, so fiercely Qui-Gon is taken aback. “An you never wanted him anyway. So you can go stick your head in a hutt’s doompa.” Qui-Gon blinks, having never heard that particular word, though from the sound of Anakin’s voice, he doesn’t think it’s a compliment. “Now what did you _say_ to him?” Qui-Gon lets his head fall back, wondering how in the world he’s gotten himself in the situation where he’s following the orders of a crechling.

“I saw him holding hands with Mace in the gardens and I told him to be careful.”

“Mace is teaching how to bond.” Anakin says, chin still up. “Cause you never did an he needs to learn it so he can teach me.”

“Yes. I realized that after the fact.” Qui-Gon frowns at the boy. “Mace, when he was younger, he would-um. He liked to-”

“He slept around.” Anakin supplies, looking at Qui-Gon like he’s an ancient droid headed for the scrap pile. “Had lots of sex?” Qui-Gon looks at him, horrified and Anakin rolls his eyes. “Slave, remember?”

“Right.” Qui-Gon shifts in his seat, a touch uncomfortable. “I was worried that Mace was trying to get Obi-Wan into bed.”

“So what if he was.” Anakin says bluntly. “Obi-Wan can have sex with the entire temple and it would still be none of your business who he took to his bed.” There’s a long, uncomfortable silence that seems to be affecting Qui-Gon more than it is Anakin, who looks like he’s enjoying this.

“You have a point.” He mumbles it finally. “You should get going. Before your teacher starts to wonder where you are.” Anakin jams the rest of the pastry in his mouth and slides off the chair, leaving with a word and Qui-Gon slumps down in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doompa translates to 'low down'. There's no word, or at least I couldn't find a word, in huttese for ass. So I made it work.


	9. Never an Absolution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Schlamoly!
> 
> I know this chapter has been a long time in coming and I wanted to thank you all for your amazing reviews and your even more amazing patience with me. I ran out of steam a little bit and couldn't figure out where I wanted this to go. I don't know about you guys but sometimes I get overwhelmed with the idea that I can take an idea and literally do anything I want with it. It's like, too much power or something.
> 
> Anyway. Thank you so much for your support and patience and I hope you like this chapter. :)

The morning after Qui-Gon threw up on Mace’s boots, Mace rises early. He scribbles down a note for Qui-Gon, leaves it on the table, and heads out to the weekly meditation session he holds for the elder padawans. He left a message for Obi-wan, requesting his attendance for the next couple of weeks, so they can establish a baseline of sorts to make the process of bonding an easier one. He figures after their one on one session in the gardens that had gone so badly, Obi-Wan might be a little more comfortable in a public setting.

He arrives half an hour early, as per usual and sets up the room, spacing out meditation mats and lighting incense and candles to help achieve the calm atmosphere meant to achieve a higher plain of meditation than one would get if they were meditating in private.

Obi-Wan shows up ten minutes before class is scheduled to start, as Mace requested. He looks calm and serene, though he feels jittery in the force. “Master Windu.” 

“Knight Kenobi. Take a seat, one of the mats at the front preferably.” Mace says, waiting until Obi-Wan has settled himself in a loose, cross legged stance. “I’m not going to touch you during our exercises.” Mace says, walking around the room with a lit cone of incense to disperse the scent into all the corners of the room. “But I am going to give you a bond-thread during your meditation. If you don’t accept it today, that’s alright. Not everyone _can_ accept a bond-thread the first time.” Obi-Wan nods and rubs his palms on his leggings. 

“Alright. I think I’m ready.”

“First position.” Mace orders and Obi-Wan inhales deeply, holds it for a few moments, and exhales, letting his body find a comfortable position and closing his eyes. “Second position.” Obi-Wan inhales deeply, and when he exhales, he opens his mind to the force, letting it take his fears and worries, dropping them like leaves into a stream. “Very good. Third position.” Obi-Wan’s mind blossoms in the force like a bud bursting into bloom and he _feels_ a single, slender thread wriggling against the durasteel of his shields until he weakens a single hole, just large enough for the thread to slip through. And then Mace is in his mind.

“Oh.”

“Calm yourself.” Mace says, and this deep in meditation he sounds like he’s speaking from far off. “Let your fear and discomfort flow out into the Force. Release it, Obi-Wan. It offers you nothing you need. Just breathe and accept what is.”

“Yes Master.” Obi-Wan murmurs and his shields shudder, the thread fragile and easily broken as it gently strokes over Obi-Wan’s mind, searching for a place to fasten itself to, to join two minds together.

No such place is found, and when Mace gently draws himself from Obi-Wan’s mind, coaxing Obi-Wan up from his deep meditation, it’s to find that class has already ended. The mats have been rolled up and put away and the room is swept clean of all the emotions released into the Force.

“You did exceptionally well.” Mace tells him, crouched in front of him and offering a hand up. Obi-wan accepts it without hesitation, letting Mace pull him to his feet.

“Thank you.” He seems lighter, feels less pulled down than he did before this exercise.

“Would you care to join me for a meal?” Mace asks and Obi-Wan watches him for a moment, as if he’s mentally weighing pros and cons before he finally nods.

“Yes. I’d enjoy that. It’s been a while since I shared a meal with someone who wasn’t Anakin.” 

“As much as we’re encouraged to spend time with our padawan’s, it’s also important to spend time with others.” Mace says, waiting for Obi-Wan to don his robes before he makes his way from the meditation room. “Our order is built on the strengths of ourselves and the strengths of others. Like a spiders web, we hold each other up and together. If one strand breaks, there are others to make sure the web does not fall apart. You must learn to open yourself to the others that are around you, Obi-Wan. They are here to help when you have fallen on hard times and you feel yourself beginning to strain from the pressure you place on yourself.” Mace says as they walk. “You cannot live this life separated from everything and everyone as you have been doing, we are here to help you. Always remember that.”

“I’m trying to.” Obi-Wan says and Mace is struck by how eager to please Obi-Wan is, and how much of him has been wasted on a Master who didn’t want, or appreciate him.

“We failed you once, Obi-Wan. And for that I apologize as deeply as I possibly can, and I hope you’ll forgive us for that failure.” Obi-Wan is silent for much of their walk, thinking over Mace’s words even as he orders his meal and sits at a table across from Mace.

“There is nothing in the Jedi code that speaks of forgiveness.” Obi-Wan says thoughtfully. “Or does that fall under emotion?” Mace’s mouth twitches.

“I suppose it would.”

“You could add an addendum.” Obi-Wan continues, green eyes sparkling with a mischief that Mace has never seen before. “There is no failure, there is only forgiveness.” 

“Cheeky brat.” Mace rumbles it, amused, and Obi-Wan grins at him, tucking into his meal of salad garnished with crumbled plar fish and toasted pulta nuts. They eat in relative silence, Obi-Wan offering a few words here and there in an attempt at small talk, and rather than being rebuffed with silence, Mace rewards him by responding in kind.  
It’s a small gesture offered over a casual meal between acquaintances, but Mace watches as Obi-Wan blooms right before his eyes, movements becoming more animated, eyes sparkling as he cracks a few terrible jokes that make Mace snort in amusement. 

Obi-Wan doesn’t drag on the meal. When he’s finished eating, he picks up his tray, gives Mace a friendly nod and thanks him for his company, leaving the man to finish his own meal in quiet solitude.

XxX XxX

The last time he’d spent this much down time at the temple he’d been a crecheling, Obi-Wan thinks with some dry amusement. He has nothing booked for this afternoon, no lessons, no meditations. Aside from his appointment with Mace that morning, there is nothing else on his schedule for the day.

He could go anywhere. Do anything. The possibilities are endless, as long as he’s back in time to pick Anakin up from his afternoon classes. He thinks about changing, catching a taxi and heading out into the city, to do what he’s not sure. Any old friends he’d once had wouldn’t have any time to play catch up, and besides, he’s far removed from the nerftailed brat they once knew.

Obi-Wan sighs and scratches along his jaw and the bit of fuzz that’s starting to grow in. At twenty five, he still looks half his age, and a comment from Garren, during an comm-chat session a few days ago had his old friend remarking on beards helping _anyone_ look older. Even baby faced knights like Obi-Wan Kenobi. So, he’d been working on growing a beard. So far it’s just peach fuzz that no one seems to notice, but Obi-Wan has hope that he’ll one day sport a magnificent beard, like some holo-movie star.

The more he thinks about it, the more leaving the temple for the afternoon seems exhausting, and the prospect of seeing people he hasn’t seen in nearly ten years even more so. The never ending missions, the constant fighting, always running from something, it’s finally over and Obi-Wan take a deep shuddering breath, pushing his emotions out into the force and letting himself settle into peace. 

Master Qui-Gon is gone. And he’s free of the man. There’s no way to explain his feelings, his emotions to others, and he won’t try to. He rubs a hand over his face, runs it through his hair, and decides that the best way to spend these next few peaceful hours in the temple, is a shower, and a nap.

 

XxX XxX

He wakes groggy, wakes to Anakin climbing into his bed, a plate of _something_ balanced carefully in his hands.

“I forgot to pick you up from class.” Obi-Wan murmurs, rubbing a hand over his face and pushing himself up, taking the plate Anakin hands him. “I apologize.”

“I know my way around the temple now.” Anakin tells him, watching like a hawk watches prey until Obi-Wan forks up _something_ off the plate and eats it. It's a little chewy, a touch more gamey than he'd expected, but it's rich and filling. "So you don't have to come pick me up every day."

"I like the routine of it." Obi-Wan says carefully and puts another morsel in his mouth. "Anakin, what is this?"

"I don't know the name of it." Anakin says, fidgeting his hands together. "But I caught them in the gardens. They look like little womp rats. Except they don't have the fangs." Anakin hooks his fingers in front of his mouth to offer up an imitation of a womp rat. Suddenly the interesting flavor on his tongue isn't so interesting anymore and Obi-Wan forces himself to swallow. He's certainly eaten worse things than brush-mouse in his life, he just hadn't expected to eat it in temple residence. “Are you mad?” Anakin asks, looking up at Obi-Wan from underneath his lashes, voice small.

“I wouldn’t call the emotion I’m feeling _mad,_ perse.” Obi-Wan offers and the tenseness Obi-Wan hadn’t really noticed until it’s gone, drains out of the boy. “You said you caught these?”

“Yeah.” Anakin goes from fidgeting with the hands to fidgeting with the hem of his robes, and Obi-Wan notices with some minor disappointment that he’s careful to keep off his face, that Anakin’s robes are yet again filthy and starting to look ragged around the edges. “I made some traps from stuff I found in the garbage.” There’s a variety of things Obi-Wan could say, many of them unkind, and he singles those options out and eliminates them immediately.

“You have a valuable skill, Anakin.” He offers after a few moments of weighing words in his mind, and in a deliberate action, he eats another piece of brush-mouse. Anakin looks surprised, and then a bit shy by the declaration, and Obi-Wan is struck by how similar they are. Both unused to kind words, searching for the hidden meaning behind every interaction. 

“Really?” Anakin looks up and Obi-Wan repositions himself so Anakin can snuggle up against his side. 

“Really.” Obi-Wan agrees. “It comes from living a life outside these walls. You have a real life experience, unlike the temple-soft brats I hope you’re not fighting with.”

“I only fight if they want to fight. An’ besides, you’re temple-soft.” Anakin says, chin raised in stubbornness as he pokes at Obi-Wan’s belly, which reveals itself to be not quite as soft as Anakin had expected it to be.

“I was.” Obi-Wan agrees. “Once.”

XxX XxX

At the end of the day, when forms have been signed, and things have been filed, and laundry has been done, cloaks have been pressed, and boots have been polished up to a high shine, Mace finally goes to see Qui-Gon.

He brings hot and sour soup, the time honored tradition of Jedi Knights everywhere to cure the remnants of a hangover. The door opens and Qui-Gon makes a tired, disgusted sort of noise and then steps back, letting Mace into his small apartment.

“I puked on your boots, didn’t I?” He asks, taking the container of soup from Mace and prying off the lid, drinking half the broth straight from the container. 

“You did.” Mace tells him and Qui-Gon winces in between swallowing broth. “I’ll have the receipt from my cleaners sent to you.” 

“That’s fair.” Qui-Gon mumbles around the lip of the container. “Ran into Obi-Wan's padawan this morning.“ Mace doesn't speak, just raises an eyebrow and waits. He's come a long way from the twenty year old this young knight once knew, and he's discovered that silence gets a lot more results. “I wasn't trying to find him.“ Qui-Gon offers after a few awkward moments. “I just came across him when I was picking up caff in the little cantina by your place.“ 

“Let's keep that between us for now.“ Mace says, fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, as of that will fight off the headache he can practically feel building behind his eyes. He'll have someone keep an eye on the boy, and if his skipping class starts to become an issue, he'll alert Obi-Wan. But for now, they all have bigger concerns than a padawan not attending a star charting class. 

“Fine by me.“ Qui-Gon shrugs and drains the rest of the soup. “Thank the force, I feel human again.“

“You're still looking a bit wookieish to me.“ Mace drawls and Qui-Gon barks out a laugh and rubs a hand over his mouth. 

“Man, that kid has a mouth on him.“ He tells Mace, shaking his head a bit. “I was attempting to do him a favor and warn him. About your _appetites_. “ he waggles his eyebrows at Mace who looks at Qui-Gon, completely unimpressed. Qui-Gon rolls his eyes when he doesn't get the reaction he was looking for and then rolls his shoulders. “Kid told me it wasn't my business if his master slept with every master in this temple.“

“Its not.“ Mace says and moves past Qui-Gon to put a pot of tea on. Even as a grown man, Mace remembers Qui-Gon barely knowing how to brew a proper cup, and it strikes him suddenly that Obi-Wan must have taken care of far more than he would ever admit. Which is one more thing on the long list of things he needs to discuss with Obi-Wan. 

But for now, his old friend needs him. 

“I know that.“ Qui-Gon sounds annoyed. “I just-“ he shrugs again. “I'm trying to help.“ Mace bites back the cruel remark on his tongue before it can even begin to resemble a thought and rubs a hand over his chin instead. 

“I don't imagine anything you could have said to Anakin would have gone over particularly well.” he offers and Qui-Gon’s face slips into an expression better suited to a sulking ten year old. “He's particularly attached to Obi-Wan at this moment. And though I can't say I encourage the attachment, it seems to be aiding both of them more than anything else we've tried.“

“Be honest.“ Qui-Gon says, moving to the cupboard to get down two plain brown mugs. “You didn't try a lot, did you?“

“No.“ Mace sighs it and takes the packet of tea from his pocket, measuring out a couple of spoonfuls and carefully tapping them into the sieve before he closes it and settles it into the brown porcelain pot to steep. “But that was before we knew this was an issue.“

“I know master Yoda likes to jerk himself off to the code.“ Qui-Gon says and Mace snorts before he catches himself. 

“Jinn that is an unacceptable way to speak about your grandmaster.“ He says, doing his best to sound like the strict Jedi Master the temple knows him as. 

“You might have known him longer, but I had to sit through _family dinners_.“ Qui-Gon says, lowering his voice to an ominous tone. “I can give the speech against attachment in my sleep, Mace. And if it's helping both of them, attachment can't be that terrible. Right?“

Mace gives a heavy sigh, the headache he'd thought gone is stomping back in. “Do you really want to have a philosophical debate on why giving up personal attachments is considered one of the cornerstones of the Jedi order?“ he asks and Qui-Gon gives him a filthy look, as if Mace has somehow betrayed him. 

“Not particularly.“

“Good. Me neither. Drink your tea and shut up.“ Qui-Gon rolls his eyes and Mace offers him a serene smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how long the next update is going take, but rest assured that no matter how long I haven't abandoned this story. It's a WIP and it'll be updated around the clusterfuck that real life throws at me. 
> 
> Again, thank you all for your love and support!


End file.
